


Raindrops and Coffee

by theSapphireSky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, rainy day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 07:09:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13758909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theSapphireSky/pseuds/theSapphireSky
Summary: Molly has an important question to ask





	Raindrops and Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Because it's rainy day and I just wanted to write a little happy drabble ❤

Molly sipped her tea, watching for the familiar head of hair to appear in the coffee shop’s doorway. Her legs dangled off the floor and she momentarily regretted choosing a high table. But the view of the bustling London streets as the rain fell was perfect from her vantage point. So she stayed, swinging her feet, and waiting.

Finally, the bell of the door chimed and she beamed as he walked in, shaking water droplets from his silver head. He caught her gaze and maneuvered through the crowded cafe toward her.

“Hi,” she greeted him and turned her cheek for his kiss.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Greg shook off his coat and draped it over the back of his chair. He eyed her half-finished, lukewarm tea. “Can I get you another?”

Molly smiled and nodded. “Sure.”

While he waited in the queue, Molly thought back on their friendship. She had only been a resident when he had come bursting into the lab, on the heels of a DI with an ego the size of Big Ben. The DI had immediately dismissed her because of her youth and gender, his arrogance setting her back up. She had started to open her mouth to tell him where he could shove his sexist attitude (no doubt ending her short career at St Barts) when the graying man behind the DI had done it for her. In a much more colorful and satisying way.

When the DI had stormed out shouting about ending the younger man’s career, Molly looked at him gratefully.

“Thank you. I hope you don’t lose your position over that,” she worried.

His tan face broke into a reassuring smile and he demurred. “Nah, the arsehole is on his way out anyway. S'only a matter of time.” He stepped forward and held out his hand. “Detective Sergeant Greg Lestrade. Just transferred here from the north.”

Molly reached out to shake his hand before realising she was still wearing gloves and blushed, laughing at herself, and waved her fingers a bit instead. “Sorry. Erm, Molly Hooper. Pathology resident.”

His eyes crinkled and he laughed with her. “Glad to meet you, Molly Hooper.”

Their professional relationship grew from there. As Greg rose the ranks at the Yard, Molly was promoted and became the youngest Specialist Registrar in London and the prime liasion between St Bart’s and Scotland Yard. They saw each other at least once a week and soon they became friends.

They had been through a lot together. Greg’s divorce (re-marriage and then divorce again). Molly’s father and his fight with cancer. His death. Greg’s custody battle. Molly’s broken engagement. Sherlock’s death.

Molly’s involvement in that, when it came to light, nearly destroyed their friendship. His rocky marriage had scarred him and betrayal of any kind cut deep. But Molly refused to let him go without a fight and, though it took time, he came to understand why she had kept it from him. Hugs and tears of forgiveness were shared on both sides. And through it all, their friendship was as strong as ever.

Which is why Molly was sitting in a warm cafe on a gloomy day as Greg carefully carried two nearly-overflowing cups back to their table. He set her tea down next to the now-empty cup before sitting down and taking a generous gulp of his black coffee.

“So,” he began, leaning back and crossing his arms. There was a telling smirk on his face. “What do you have to tell me?”

Molly knew feigning innocence wouldn’t work on the DCI. She just smiled. “You’re much too observant, Greg. Let me have some fun.”

He snorted. “Despite what some say, I’m not the Detective Chief Inspector for nothing.”

His eyes went to her left hand knowingly. She followed his gaze to the ring that adorned her finger. Smiling, she watched as the row of tiny diamonds caught the overhead lights.

“I remember you told me years ago that he loved me.” Her smile turned wry. “I didn’t believe you then. But you were right.”

Greg raised his eyebrows. “Wait, just give me a mo’.” He closed his eyes. “This must be how Sherlock feels all the time.”

“Oh, shut up,” Molly laughed and kicked his shin lightly.

That boyish grin of his only grew and his eyes twinkled. “Okay, okay.” He raised his hands in mock surrender.

Molly rolled her eyes fondly.

He took another sip of coffee and watched her over the rim of his cup. “So, what did you lure me away from my paperwork to tell me?”

This was it. But first, she needed to take a fortifying sip of tea.

“It’s something I need to ask you, actually,” she said. Greg sobered and his brow creased in worry.

“Is everything all right? You’re not in trouble, are you? Is it Sherlock? Do I need to strike the fear of God into him?”

Molly shook her head, her laugh thick with emotion. “No, nothing like that. Sherlock has been just wonderful. Bit of a Groomzilla, but I anticipated that going in.”

Relied washed over his face and he reached out to cover her hand with his, squeezing it in reassurance. “Good. But if you ever need a break, just let me know and I can find him a nice murder to solve in Iceland.”

“That won’t be nece…Iceland, really?”

Greg shrugged and his eyes twinkled mischievously. “I know a guy.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. But what I wanted to ask you doesn’t have anything to do with Sherlock…well, I guess in a roundabout way, it does.” She shook her head at herself. “Sorry, I’m rambling again. I guess I’m just nervous.”

“Molly, it’s me, you can ask me anything.”

She looked up at him. “I know.” She took a deep breath. “Greg, you have been one of my closest, dearest friends. Since my father passed away, you have filled that hole in my life and…and I would…” Her eyes filles with tears and a lump formed in her throat but she kept going. “I would be _honoured_ if you would walk me down the aisle.”

His eyes misted over and his lips pulled back as if to keep from trembling. “Of course, _of course_ I will.” He hopped down and she did the same, letting him pull her into one of his bear hugs and hiding her face in his shoulder. She breathed in the familiar scent of rain, coffee, and the mint of nicotene gum.

He pulled back, but not before pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“It would be my honour, Molly.”


End file.
